My wife’s mother, Donna, had her doubts about me. The first time I met my Kathy’s parents Donna was the one who asked the probing questions. It was at a restaurant. I made sure I didn’t drink too much and kept my wits about me.
Over the years, however, Donna came to realize that I loved her daughter and she trusted me. That was a gift.
In fact I remember when I first introduced her to cider. She and her Husband Hank were visiting from San Antonio about a year ago. I usually fixed her a Manhattan or poured her a glass of wine. This time, I offered her cider.
“Will I like it?, she asked.
“Well, it’s got alcohol in it, it’s made from ripe apples and its pretty refreshing. So, yeah, what’s not to like,” I told her.
“Then I’ll have some.”
I poured her a glass.
“I like this, Tom! How much alcohol is it?”
I told her it was only about 7% alcohol. “Well, I still like this.”
I poured a variety of ciders for her over the past year. Ciders from Sonoma, Washington, New York and even her home state of Texas. I was on a mission to show her the good stuff. She never once turned up her nose. If I had more time, I could have turned her into a cider connoisseur.
Donna passed this morning from the shitty, awful disease Alzheimers. She had stopped eating and drinking.
Last night, she took her last liquids. It was a glass of hard cider. She requested it. And by all accounts, she drained the glass.